


Help Me

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Confessions, Depression, Gen, Getting Help, Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: If I asked... would you help me?





	Help Me

**Author's Note:**

> Was in my car driving home from the store and heard this song and this idea struck me. Get your tissues out, trust me.
> 
> **IMPORTANT! Could be triggering to those with suicidal thoughts, severe depression, or those dealing with alcohol abuse.**
> 
> Beta: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "In My Blood" by Shawn Mendes

It isn't the first time, hell, it's not even the _second_ time he's found Damian like this: passed out on the cold bathroom tiles, dark stains on his blue t-shirt, the lingering miasma of alcohol on his skin, and a sickly undertone to the air that speaks of vomit. He kneels next to him on his bathroom floor, pushes sweat-drenched hair back from his forehead and lays the back of his hand against the clammy skin, glad to not find a fever.

Reaching for Damian's discarded phone, he turns the screen on and uses their bypass code to get into it, opening his outgoing text messages and finding his name at the top. Damian hasn't texted him in _months_ and he didn't get a message last night.

Tim slides down the wall to sit next to Damian's passed out form, one hand lingering on his shoulder, a steady presence in Damian's unsteady world and he taps his name. There's a single line written, a draft that remained unsent, and Tim's breath catches in his throat.

_If I asked... would you help me?_

There's a sob stuck in his throat, something stealing his breath away, and there's an ache that he _knows_ , one he's owned since he was fifteen and still grasping at straws, still trying to make himself feel something. His hands shake as he places Damian's phone on the edge of the counter and reaches for him, pulling him between his legs, cradling his still-smaller form against his chest, his mouth and nose pressed to his hair, eyes squeezed closed as the tears come.

He feels Damian stir then, feels him tense when he realizes he's not alone, and it's all he can do to give him the answer to a question he'd been unable to ask last night. 

"I'll always help."

Damian makes a sound and it's a fragile, broken concept of what a sound should be. It's anguish and it's anger and it's frustration built upon a thousand things Tim can only begin to understand. It's helpless and it's _wrong_ coming from Damian's body and it's something like shock when Damian begins to shake and Tim realizes he's losing losing control and he's letting Tim see it and it's like the world is falling apart, trying to reform into something he's never considered.

He cards his hand through Damian's hair as he cradles him close and just hangs on while he falls apart. He remembers this part. He recalls the agony of letting it out, of letting go in front of someone. He remembers Dick's patient words, the years of phone calls and how even last week he found himself wishing he still had someone to talk to even when the world wasn't as bad as it once had been. 

More than that, he remembers how it felt to do it for the first time, how he'd felt so _weak_ and how it'd taken months to realize that needing someone else wasn't weakness, it was humanity. He takes a shaky breath and speaks because it's what Dick would have done for him.

"It's okay to need help. God knows I've needed a lot of it in my life. When the world feels like it's caving in, when it feels like nothing can be right again... it's better to have someone to reach out to. It's better to tell them and to have them _understand_. I... I can be that if you'll let me. I can be your net and maybe..." he takes a trembling breath, "you can be mine. Would that make it easier? If you knew my weaknesses just as much as I knew yours?"

He hears the hitched breath, feels the tremor, senses the hesitation and then he feels the way Damian's fingers curl into his shirt, hears the change in his breath, the sob that he tries to swallow down, and it's in that moment that he understands just how deep this runs, that he sees the truth of it and just how close he's come to losing him.

The thin wail that rises in the air should have made his hair stand on end, should have given him reason to _run_ , but all it does is light the fire of determination in his veins. Giving up isn't in their nature, it isn't in their veins, and it's probably the only reason he hasn't lost Damian yet. 

He pulls him back from his chest, cradles his face between his palms, and he lets him see his wet cheeks, lets him see the raw emotion burning inside him, and he whispers his truth then. He shares the broken moments, the weakest nights, the times he thought he couldn't make it until morning, the instances he thought maybe he'd just let himself keep falling instead of searching for a way to save himself. He shares how Dick was always there to keep one hand on him, to hold on at the right moments so he didn't step over the ledge, so he didn't drown in his own world where nothing could ever feel right again.

And he listens. He listens as Damian's broken voice tells him the truth of so many years of repression. He tells him of the abuse, of the truth of his childhood before coming to them, of how he'd thought he could block it all out and then one day found he couldn't any longer. He tells him of his broken heart, of his thoughts of failure and how his world felt like it was coming apart at the seams, of how he never felt _good enough_. He tells him how it's been a week since he got out of bed before noon, how he's not turned in an assignment all week, how he's failing Differential Equations and how the effort needed to even hold his pencil feels like it's beyond him. 

He shakes as he tells him, he clings to him as if he'll never let go again, and Tim finds, he doesn't mind. That he never would have minded had this come sooner.

He listens to the whisper of Damian's voice as he tells him how sometimes he lets Gotham kick his ass just so he can feel again. How he's let himself get into bad situations because he felt like he deserved it. He aches when Damian tells him it's been months since anything worked right in certain aspects of his life, and he pulls him close when Damian confesses he's been lying for years about who he truly is. 

For hours, they sit there, trading confessions in the florescent light of the bathroom, the tile growing painful beneath them and yet their spirits shifting together, the shadows finding partners and sharing something deeper. It's not the answer, it's not a light in the darkness, but it's something they can face together now. Something they can use to make themselves stronger when they're together, and Tim thinks Damian knows it, too. He's certain of it when it's Damian who stands up, who takes Tim's hand and guides him from the room and into the open expanse of his kitchen and makes them coffee instead of tea.

They lean on the counter and when Damian's fingertips brush his own, Tim doesn't even hesitate to link their fingers together, to hang on like Damian could be his lifeline and knowing he _is_ Damian's own.

While it'll never feel like a solution, he knows it'll always feel like they're not alone. He knows all it'll ever take is two simple words.

_Help me._


End file.
